Unacceptably Morbid

**Warning: The following post is not for the faint of heart. Some may find it disturbing and many will think it's extremely politically incorrect while others will attest that it's downright wrong. Admittedly, this is a really strange thing to post about, but I've shared this blog with people I love, so it's also strange to not have my wishes known. Here goes ... **

I got a phone call today about an elderly woman who kept saying she didn't have long to live, and it made me think about how we really, really don't know. Maybe it's just me, but being a parent amplifies that feeling and makes life seem all the more fragile.

My brain, as usual, didn't stop with its initial thought. I continued along those lines of thinking and landed right on the begging question: why don't we, as a general rule and not the exception, plan better for something that is inevitable? And then the answer came to me. When we make plans for anything we do, one of the first things we usually set is the date. Since that's not really possible with death (unless you join a self-sacrificial cult - which I have no intention of doing or condoning - or you are truly capable of predicting the future, which I have yet to witness from anyone first-hand), we kind of just all hold on and hope for the best (read:: continued life here on earth.)

**Repeat warning: I told you this was morbid. It's also heavy.**

That question answered and stored away, I started wondering what I would want when "my time comes," whenever that may be. And Fate, if you're reading this, please DO NOT consider this my acceptance of death letter. I want to be old and withering with enough time to watch my babies (and hopefully someday grand-babies) grow into happy, healthy adults who have found and applied their purpose in life.

That said, this isn't the first time I've ever considered my own funeral, if we must use that terrible pain-inducing sadness-laden term. I much prefer to have my own "going away party." Doesn't that sound better? Tony and I have discussed our wishes with one another and now I'm sharing them with you, my dear readers who have surprisingly made it this far. I have kindly asked Jesus to perfectly imitate Ben Harper's voice while singing Forever to me when the time arrives so that I find solace in the moment.

I mean, really. Tell me this isn't the best love/eternity song EVER written:


And if it's not too much to ask, I'd rather not have everyone crying over me. Really. I want to be cremated and for everyone to truly celebrate, not mourn. Those who survive me can bury the ashes for closure, but please don't let anyone tote them around. While I don't want my physical being taking up space on this earth when it no longer needs to, I also don't want to be carried around like luggage, so I prefer to hold on to that piece of tradition and be buried.

I can understand why some people prefer to have their ashes "spread" somewhere special, but even this is a stretch (no pun intended) for me. I don't want to take up space but I also don't want little bits of me flying around to who knows where.

Fate, remember I want to be old and withering, so most likely my organs will be no good, but if they are, I would like them to be donated.

Okay, now that we have that settled, let's get to the going away party planning. I want MUSIC and FOOD. Lots of good music and plenty of food to keep everyone happy. You can throw a few soppy, mopey ones in there if you find it comforting, but I'd rather have songs like Awesome God and Sweetly Broken and definitely as much of the Beatles as you can pack in: Let it be, Here Comes the Sun, and preferably ending the whole shebang with Obladi Oblada. Add anything (and I do mean anything) else in between that may remind you of me and call it a day.

I mean it. Make it as enjoyable as possible. I'll be listening for laughter, not tears ... that is if I can still hear when I'm hundreds of years old :)